Thomas let out a sigh and said, "Well be sure it is on my desk by noon," and disappeared behind the gray partition.
"All I do are reports," Mr. Petrovitch grumbled to himself. He knew his time could be spent more wisely.
At 4:35 Mr. Petrovitch arose from his ergonomically correct chair and once again headed for the elevator. Once out on Broadway he made his way to his motorcycle and rode home. Before heading into his apartment building he stepped into the small convenience store located nearby. The man working behind the counter looked up as he heard the bell ring as Mr. Petrovitch entered. The store was small and claustrophobic. He made his way down the small aisle and stared at the soup on the top shelf. Reaching for the box of Matzoh he thought about having something else as well, but then decided it was too much work. As Mr. Petrovitch made his way to the counter he glanced at the tabloid papers positioned near the front. So and so were getting a divorce and photos of actresses without makeup were promised inside. He felt happy just to be ordinary.
After paying for his box of soup Mr. Petrovitch walked back outside and into the sunlight. The door to his apartment was to the left and he put the soup in his satchel before entering the glass doors.
The apartment lobby smelled of stale cigarettes. It was no longer allowed to smoke inside, but the walls and carpet hung on to cigarettes from years past. The stale smoke followed him up the stairs to the third floor. Taking a break at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, he thought about the letter. "So she wants to apologize," and he smiled. Once he could breathe again he walked across the orange and red carpet to apartment 3C.
